


Got a Blood Fever Going On

by Anonymous



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Awkward First Times, Dubious Consent, From Sex to Love, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter didn't expect his first heat. He barely knew how to recognise one. But that didn't stop him from knowing exactly who he wanted to help him get through it, and Yondu didn't get much of a chance to say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got a Blood Fever Going On

**Author's Note:**

> For this kink meme prompt (though it doesn't hit all the notes the prompt asks for): Peter is experiencing his first heat, and is absolutely terrified. Being abducted at such a young age, he hasn't the slightest clue as to what the A/B/O 'verse is. 
> 
> It doesn't help that _all_ of the Ravagers are alphas.
> 
> After stumbling through the ship in search of a suitable alpha to mate with, he finally finds Yondu. It is fast and brutal, and after, Yondu brushes him off, angrily attempting to hide the fact that he felt used. 
> 
> Peter then awkwardly sets about trying to show Yondu that he'd actually had feelings for him before the heat... without instigating an uncomfortably sentimental moment.
> 
>  
> 
> The prompt is [from here](http://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/2727.html?thread=1109159#t1109159). Unfortunately LiveJournal's new Captcha doesn't let me post most of the time, but I have half this story so, might as well post somewhere.
> 
> * * *

Phase 1: Feeling woozy. Peter made bobble-headed doll motions to test the feeling, then sighed, powered down and pocketed his vid cube and set off to med quarters. You didn't get shy about symptoms of sickness while living on a spaceship, because diseases that got past the decontamination procedures could be awful, and whatever it was, the rest of the crew wouldn't be happy about catching it off you. One of the other people in the rec room called after him, but he waved it off as he went out the door.

 

Phase 2: Taking a shortcut through the canteen and being able to smell every last thing in it. His mouth and eyes both watered - that had to be one hell of a curry - and when Peter sniffled from it, the people smelled really noticeably too. Jeez. At least it didn't exactly stink. It was like it was hot or everyone had got caught in the rain enough that their scents were enhanced, except that they didn't smell particularly sweaty or damp, just ... more present.

All the scents made him feel sicker as he started walking across the room. Not like he was going to puke or anything, but his skin heated up and further up as the scents seemed to clog up hs brain. Should it be possible to feel a fever this clearly? It couldn't be good. He was sure he'd heard before that you could hallucinate if a fever got bad enough, and it had probably even been back on Terra and not among the things other Ravagers had made up that he would frantically fact-check in order to sleep at night. He sped up.

People looked over as he did so, but he refused to pay it any attention. Then conversations nearby got quieter and stopped.

"Quill, hey," someone said who sounded like Doc Mozin. He _should_ talk to the doctor right away, obviously ... and kept walking. People were staring. A lot of them, he was sure.

Someone else called him in a weird voice that was deep and low enough that he didn't recognise it. He knew everybody currently on board - had known most since he got settled in. He didn't know why that guy was suddenly sounding like that, just saying his name, like it might be because of him.

The door closed behind him right after there was a creak like one of the canteen's squeakier seats swinging out. It was probably someone getting up. Maybe leaving the room; maybe heading in his direction.

Peter thought things over - looking weak, really not wanting to be hassled, how much trouble it would start if he pulled a weapon to warn people off and someone took him up on it for fun - and ran.

 

Phase 3: Not being able to run. The walls were cool under his hands and, when he decided he didn't care if anyone thought he was drunk or crazy, against his face. It was hard to walk that way, but Peter Quill was no quitter!

Oh, god. The smell of all those people in the canteen clung, in his clothes and hair and like a sticker smack-dab up each nostril, the fever didn't let up, and now his stomach _was_ quietly turning in a weird way that still didn't feel like nausea. The smells got worse every time he went past an occupied room or walked by anybody, but maybe that was the start of a hallucination - if you could see and hear things that weren't there, the same could go for scent, right? This kind of awareness couldn't be normal, real. He needed to tell someone about this, preferably without any of the sudden laughter or the stopping and _staring_ people were doing as soon as they set eyes on him, making him sweat and twitch and work to walk faster, and since Doc had been in the canteen with its crowd of people, it wasn't going to be him.

Someone, someone... Yeah, all right, he already knew where he was going.

At this point, he did dig out a gun and hold it for the purpose of being seen. This once, if anyone took him up on the potential threat instead of taking it as a sign to back off, he'd shoot like it was a Ravager's right to.

 

Phase 4: "I wanna die."

Peter heard his voice come out high and warbling, out of control like his whole entire skin that was currently trying to live a full life without him. "Please. Help."

Yondu didn't move closer, or even shift out of mid-stride position outside the captain's cabin, frozen with one foot starting to lift off the ground.

"I am _gunna_ die, Yondu, please..."

"And, what, I'm supposed to give a mercy killing?" Yondu went for his good old slow, terrifying grin, but it was off; not quite convincing. Peter sagged to a stop against the wall and let his gun drop from his tingling, shaking hands with relief. This might actually work out. It had to.

"Help. I can't walk anymore. Came all the way here, but, just can't anymore, man."

There was a simple rule: no one who liked their hide intact messed up in front of Yondu, Peter included (and it felt like him especially). No disobeying orders, no stupidity, no sentiment, no expecting a thing like help. Except that sometimes Peter could give up on any toughness, throw the mess of himself at the captain and know he'd get caught without a word about it. And now Yondu took a step towards him. This was the right time or Peter looked bad enough that Yondu had to fight to act like it didn't make a difference. _I win!_ Peter thought. Even a win that sucked was still a win. Especially with this asshole.

"Any reason you're not in medical or the brig?" Yondu said.

"Brig? What have I done except feel like shit for no reason?" Peter shrilled. "Can't even _move_!" Yondu didn't take the hint and come to him. Sensations ran through Peter's skin, all over - the bend of one arm, his nipples, his tailbone. "Can't stay still..."

He stumbled forwards, keeping his hands on the wall so he wouldn't pitch into the ground from dizziness, but didn't, for some reason, do anything to stop himself from walking right into Yondu.

That was a terrible idea. Had to be the hallucinations and delusions. Peter grabbed Yondu's jacket with both hands anyway and leaned into him. What was that saying from Terra - in for a penny, in for a pound? Homegrown wisdom that he could later insist was important religious philosophy, right there, that was the kind of bullshit Yondu got entertainment out of being sarcastic about. He was still on the verge of falling over, anyway.

"Oh, for gods' sakes. You're a kid," Yondu said impatiently.

His body said, gently, 'stay right here', or 'good job, don't worry', or 'you're actually not such an idiot kid like I can't stop yelling about since you started working proper on my own freaking decision that you could handle it'. He'd widened his stance to take Peter's weight and was petting his neck and the lowest sweat-damp curls of his hair, which made the shivers all over his body ease off until they came only in light surges timed to the hand passing over his skin or his cheek rubbing on Yondu's clothes. It took all the tension out of his shoulders and he'd swear he felt his heart slowing down. Then Yondu's other arm went round his waist to pull him closer, which was _amazing_ and a serious problem.

"Sorry about - I'm hard, I know, don't exactly mean to be," Peter said, moving his hips away - a little, because the motion suddenly, randomly jarred him to the marrow. "Involuntary," he squeaked. "Got a blood fever thing going on. That's all. Promise I won't cough on you."

"So what will you get on me?" Yondu said, trying for cynical but breathing too hard to sell it.

"Don't be like that! Come on, I'm not going to get weird. This is just sickness stuff. Totally above-board."

"Yeah, Quill. 'Course it is." Yondu made a hoarse sound - and then he might have been starting to pull back and shove Peter off. He hadn't moved yet but there was new tension in his body and the hands on Peter faltered. Immediately Peter redoubled his grip on the jacket and leaned into him as much as he could and still be decent, holding in a gasp like it was a freaking shock that Yondu wouldn't stand around and keep perpetrating touchy-feely bizarreness.

"This helps, really, it does. I feel way better now, seriously. Even chicken soup and toasted cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off has nothing on this. Thank you, so much, but if you could keep doing it..." Peter felt around to the side, slapping against the wall. "Hey, I know," he said soothingly and with naked desperation, finally hitting the button for requesting access to the cabin; it gave the familiar beep. "There, I've asked nicely, and nobody's here, they're not going to see you being nice in return if we go inside."

He lifted Yondu's hand off his waist and towards the lock in suggestion, and gave him a careful look, keeping his head low, to judge his expression. Yondu was staring at the door to the cabin with more emotion than Peter had seen him show since that time the old homeship got shot up so bad they needed to get this one. Wow. What the hell? Then Yondu looked over to the other side of the hallway - to where Peter had let the gun drop, he saw as he glanced in the same direction.

Yondu smacked his hand onto the bio-lock, it lit up, and the two of them stumbled through the opening door and into the room still holding each other. _Beep!_ \- the lock re-engaged behind them. Peter bit his lip in case one more 'thank you' broke the tough-guy rules of conduct too much, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a knuckle brushed the dip in his lip. Then a shove to his shoulders sent him back in an arc that ended on Yondu's bed.

His over-sharp senses had him acutely aware of the soothing coolness of air rushing over his cheeks and ears, and in a contrast that made his stomach cramp tight in despair, of the vacuum of entire metres of space between him and Yondu.

And then the weirder thing, the really, really, fucking weird thing, was that his entire body unwound heavily into relaxation when Yondu climbed onto the bed too, straddled him, and leaned close - right over him - the shadowed space between them thick and hot - to pull out a drawer set in the wall by the head of the bed.

Yondu dug around in the drawer and tried to take his jacket off at the same time. "Get off," he muttered through cluttering sounds.

Peter no longer understood anything that had happened in his life so far, logic and consequence leaking out of everything from this moment back. He gulped in a steadying breath to reply - and his nose filled with a scent, leather and a high, wild salt-sweetness, that finally unpeeled the clinging stink of the other crewmembers off his senses. His teeth clicked together like he could bite more of it out of the air.

He tried to pull himself together. "Yes sir, Captain sir, of course, except you did push me here and also you are all over me so moving is--"

"Stay on the bed. Stay right where you are. Get yourself off," Yondu said with deliberate clarity.

Peter stared as Yondu got a little flat thing - huh ... yes, yep, a condom, _huh_ \- out of the drawer and held it in his mouth, overcame his jacket and dropped it to the floor, and then sat back on his haunches to return the stare. Those red eyes were too wide. Yondu clicked his tongue impatiently and unbuttoned his pants to get his dick out, shaking his shoulders loose with a shiver as he squeezed it.

Now Peter stared at the dick. A respectable half-chub, getting harder. A lot like his own had been doing often lately, as in for like a week, not just right now... 

Things fell into place. "I'm in heat!"

"Don't we catch on quick. And get on with it - get off." Yondu's voice was grubbing around low and dirty like the voice of whoever it had been in the canteen.

The sound of it made Peter's _armpits throb_. How the freaking actual FUCK, he yelled in his head as all the rest of his blood rushed to his face and dick, was anyone meant to know THESE FEELINGS led to SEX? Not dread disease. Not internal collapse. Sex.

In retrospect, the hard-on should have been given more consideration as a clue.

Peter instead focused on the fact that Yondu was taking off his shirts. So maybe Peter ought to take off his own, because hey, now it was a 100% acceptable action.

Maybe he ought to take off his boots and pants. And underwear. And get that fat blue dick inside his 'sorry, indeterminate, half-hearted pinkish-yellowish-weirdish' self - as per Yondu's description of a chunk of his crew, one boozy night as he eyed them like they didn't look real. It wasn't bothering Yondu now, since he was staring down at Peter without glancing away for one hot second.

Okay, this was a sex feeling, he recognised this! Dick letting out a pulse, hips wanting to grind. This was doable. This was _actually going to happen_. With Yondu! That was insane. And great. And freakishly weird. And he would live up to any of those stories of omegas with their chosen partner going for anyone else's throat, because he did not want interruptions when he'd picked Yondu without getting laughed at or sent away or anything, and the asshole had picked him back and was being excited. Even nice! They'd _frigging hugged_.

The thought of slipping off the bed had absolutely nothing going for it, so Peter squirmed in place to undress, gently lowering weapons and tools to the floor and shoving clothes all over. And constantly kept looking at Yondu's dick. It wasn't exactly interesting or surprising. Hard was a different look on it, compared to the usual he might see in the showers or if they had to change outfits during a job - and hey, now dressed for the occasion with condom. Mostly he was glad to know it was there. Kind of needed to know it was.

He was going to laugh so much at himself later. That, at least, worked with what he'd picked up about being in heat before other people could drop their voices or laugh him out of the room.

"Gonna look or gonna hop on board?" Yondu growled. "You want a ride, already?"

" _Yes_ fuck _yes_ \- help me with my boots! Come on..." He shoved pants and underwear as far down his thighs as he could reach with Yondu propped over him, and realised that they'd skipped rule one, nearly more important than contraceptives: "Aw, dammit, we forgot to put a towel down." Which led to another vital realisation and left him staring at his crotch in consternation: "Aw, dammit, wait, I'm not even wet!"

"Of course you're extra work, Peter. Told you to jack off and get it started." Yondu _sounded_ all right. Strained, sure, but a normal amount of grouchy and instructive. Everything else switched to unfamiliar as he yanked Peter's pants down to the tops of his boots in one go, a violent move that dragged him down the bed and was nothing like the way Yondu actually fought, and left Peter's legs bent enough that they were nearly squeezed against both their chests. Yondu ducked to haul them over his head, Peter's booted feet knocking into his back. He was so close that he wasn't just big and built like always, but a giant, hands massive as one grabbed Peter's dick and just one fingertip of the other entered his hole. Yondu's expression was desperate, and how often did that happen?

"There go my armpits again," Peter Quill, fast-talker extraordinaire, gasped out helplessly in the face of all this, then groped at the juncture of his own legs. "Fff--and thighs now, oh god, oh. Yondu..."

Was this the whole forceful alpha thing? Yondu was an alpha, right? Was he feeling body-crazy too? Peter couldn't pet him soothingly, finding the question of where to put his hands a total and embarrassing puzzle. He tried to get Yondu to talk again, but couldn't say anything that needed a response, just babbling or panting. Instead all he did was to try and find a way to work with the movements of the hands on him and in him, and that didn't help any to calm either of them down.

Yondu was leaning closer, breathing harsh sniffs. Peter scented the air too - now more salt than sweet. He flung his arms out to grip the sides of the bed and found his hips rising as he levered himself up on his elbows, and the motion made Yondu's finger slide deeper, thicker, practically hitting an off-switch for his brain with how it ached. Hips kept jerking anyway. And there it was, he got wet for the first time. Heat and omegahood, fully initiated, then, right?

Yondu let out a nonsense noise way hotter than his usual ones, and angled and jostled hastily to arrange the two of them. Peter's sorta-tied-together legs slid off his shoulder on one side and practically into his face on the other - and he didn't notice and just drove his dick along the fingers up inside Peter, fucking in with sharp pushes at the first resistance. Peter swore quiet and fast as he opened beyond control and beyond what seemed possible. His body sure was out to show him or damn thing or two today.

They were joined, so close to fully joined, just like that. That fast. It was good - although it shouldn't be, because it felt so different and new he couldn't say he liked the feeling yet. But he couldn't think of wanting to stop.

He wanted to move his legs apart, letting himself open up more easily, but the pants at his ankles kept him from it. He didn't want to say what he wanted. It would be embarrassing. It might make Yondu _move out of him_ for a minute. So ... it worked to bend his legs more, moving his heels further up Yondu's back - and probably to try and avoid kicking him, oops. He didn't seem to notice, though. It was ... something to realise how much Yondu liked it both ways: the way Peter's legs lying low down his back and close together led to their coupling being a dragged-out squeeze, and how far inside he could reach with all that heat and force when Peter opened up to him instead. He only had one focus. No playing around or joking, which maybe Peter might have thought Yondu would do under all circumstances, including in bed. No teasing and messing with his head. Pure want, all for him.

The only words Yondu spoke throughout it were: "This goddamned fuzz!" as he pressed his mouth and nose to Peter's jawline. Peter laughed, stupidly triumphant, because that had the undertones of a home team victory in Yondu's feud with his attempt to grow a beard. "Can't get enough of it, huh? Who's patchy now?" he murmured, and lay back for it when he got bit. Sex, it turned out, was a full-bodied thing, even with Tab A going into Slot B. He decided he wasn't crazy about the biting but it wasn't a deal breaker, and he loved the sucking kisses placed over them, breathing faster as the sting and tingle went on and downwards to make his legs wobble even worse.

Yondu almost got distracted enough to speak again, Peter thought, when he noticed the glowing. First the thrusting slowed and then Yondu glared into the air and stopped moving, which did nothing to lessen Peter's embarrassment about looking like he'd been possessed by the spirit of a Lisa Frank sticker book.

"It's a Terran thing," Peter said, looking at the strangeness of his own skin. It had never been this strong before. "Afterglow. I heard some mentions of it when I was a kid and didn't have much idea what they were talking about at the time, but yeah, when I got older and started, you know, feeling my way around, I figured it out pretty quick." He waved a luminescent hand. "It's supposed to happen _after_ sex, or at least towards to the end, what with the name, but: Heat is a really weird thing," he stressed, planning to write this on billboards in the future, "and it messes your whole body up, and more people should tell you that before it actually up and happens."

Yondu gave him a suspicious look. Then a hard thrust, and Peter arched on cue. They went right back at it.


End file.
